Page 57 of Claimed By the Mothman
The buzzer went off at the same time that Nell blurted, “It’s—a watchmaker!”
Sig smiled, slow and warm and pleased. Like she'd passed a test she didn’t know she was taking. “Correct.”
“Point or no point?” Dev asked.
“Half point,” Hollis said. “She got it, but late.”
“Team One: two and a half,” Jem declared. “Team Two: one.”
Next up was Hollis. He rose like a man heading into open heart surgery with only a spoon and a positive attitude. Jem clapped him on the back and handed him the bowl like a baton in a relay race they were already losing.
“Channel your inner drama kid,” she whispered.
“I was inband,”he muttered. He read his slip of paper. Then flipped it over, just to check that there wasn’t a helpful illustration.
The timer started.
Hollis took a breath and threw himself into motion, starting with what appeared to be an enthusiastic attempt at flapping. Then he switched abruptly to crawling. Then back to flapping. He stopped, reconsidered, then stood up and began miming something being…pulled?
“Eagle!” Dev shouted.
“Tractor?” Carol offered, uncertain.
He made a violent swirling motion with both hands, grimaced, then mimed getting knocked over by a sudden gust of wind.
“A blender?” Jem guessed.
“No—wait—he’s…weather?” Dev tried.
“Yes!” Hollis gasped, pointing at him like a lifeline.
“Oh my god,” Nell whispered. “Was that supposed to betornado?”
Goldie applauded politely. “Respect the effort. Ten out of ten commitment. Zero out of ten clarity.”
“Still counts!” Jem grinned. “We’re tied up, baby. Team One: two and a half,” she declared, marking down the count on the scoreboard. “Team Two: two.”
Round Four was Nell’s turn. Jem held out the bowl with an expectant smile, and Ezra was chanting her name like a sports fan summoning a quarterback from hell.
“Nell. Nell. Nell. Nell.”
“Oh gods,” she muttered, standing up with grim resolve. “If I die, bury me with snacks.”
She plucked a slip from the bowl. Read it. Groaned.
“What is it?” Goldie hissed.
Nell looked at her. “I can’t tell you that.”
Goldie narrowed her eyes. “You’re stalling.”
“I’mcoping.”
The timer began.
Nell inhaled, stepped forward… and panicked.
She began with interpretive jazz hands—because why not—and then transitioned into an extremely confusing crouch-waddle, paired with erratic pointing at nothing.
